Essentially Feminine
by And Then There Were Two
Summary: It was rather easy for John Watson to forget the fact that his flatmate was a woman. She spent most of her time with men, ran all over London and didn't indulge in many womanly past times. It was only normal for him to forget. But then there were situations which reminded John just how much of a woman Sherlock really was.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello people of the Sherlock Fandom. This is my very first fanfic and I'm rather nervous for it. I've seen the critiques that can be given and I've also seen the nice things that have been said. I can only hope you all like this.**

**Please read and review. I would love to know how much you like this. Enjoy y'all!**

**. . Anwynn. .**

* * *

There were times when John Watson forgot that his flat-mate was a woman.

As surprising as this seems, it was true. Sherlock never complained about any womanly problem. She didn't behave very lady-like, what with her sharp mouth and harsh truth. It wasn't that she didn't look feminine, _oh no_, she looked very womanly. What with her dark hair falling in waves to her shoulders, always tied up or wound in a messy bun, a few strand always brushing the side of her face. It was just…she rarely talked to any women besides Sally Donovan. So John couldn't really be blamed for sometimes forgetting that she was the same as all women, no matter how high and mighty she might seem.

However, there were incidents, which jarred the army doctor and reminded him just _how_ _much _of a woman Sherlock really was.

* * *

It was another normal day at the flat. Well, as normal as it could ever be in 221B anyways.

"Alright. I'm off to get some milk. Want me to get anything for you?" called John, toeing his shoes on and glancing at his flat-mate. The consulting detective was lying on the couch, dressed in her usual white nightie over which she wore her silk blue dressing gown. The dressing gown was loosely tied, accentuating her slender waist, and was half open, pooling on the floor.

"Hmmm…" Sherlock mused, tapping her fingertips together and studying the ceiling with interest. Her grey-blue-green – God, John didn't even know what colour they were- were moving across the ceiling, reading lines only she could see.

"Do you need anything?" the army doctor asked again, shifting slightly and glancing outside. It looked like it was about to rain. _Again. God, why did it rain so much?_ The blond's thoughts were brought to a halt as Sherlock finally sat up, turning her head in his direction and looking at him expectantly.

"I'm sorry. Could you repeat that?" asked John sheepishly. The detective let out a frustrated huff and rolled her eyes before speaking again.

"You know I hate to repeat myself John. I asked if you would be so kind as to pick up tampons. I've run out," said the female, giving a dismissive gesture, which marked the end of the conversation, before flopping back down. John stared at the woman in blank shock, just opening and closing his mouth for a few seconds. An indefinite time later he made a strangled sounding noise.

"T-_tampons_?" asked the older male, looking incredulous and still sounding rather choked. There was a sigh from the sofa and Sherlock sat up again, glaring at John.

"Yes, John. _Tampons_. I'm sure your hearing is perfectly fine," she replied scathingly. There was some silence.

"C-can't you bring them yourself?"

"No. As you can see, I'm quite busy thinking, something you should really do once in a while. It's a wonder your brain hasn't stagnated."

"Sherlock, tampons are for women-" here he was cut off again.

"_Really_? I hadn't noticed. How very observant of you." John continued undaunted.

"-and I am not a woman. Plus, I haven't shopped for tampons for ages. I can't possibly go there and _buy _them for you. Its awkward." There was another short silence in which both flat-mates stared at each other. And then…

"Tampax. Bring a couple of packets," said the dark-haired woman, this time completely dismissing John and ignoring his feeble protests.

* * *

John was sure he had never been in a situation _this_ awkward since he was fourteen and Harry had sent him on a quest through the lingerie store. Though…this was considerably better than that one time when he and Sherlock had been in a Victoria's Secret for a case and one of the staff had insisted on getting Sherlock to buy a pair of lacy undergarments. The blond shuddered slightly. _Yes. That had been horrible_. _Tantalizing too, but that is a whole other thing_. The army doctor quickly walked to the self-checkout, trying to get his work done quickly so he could leave. There had been woman who had given him a strange look when he had picked up the box of Tampax. Of course Fate decided to meddle in John's life for having some entertainment. The machine wasn't working. It just wouldn't scan the packet. No matter how many times John would do it. The blond let out an irritated huff and tried again, but to no avail. _Bloody machine. Why did this hav-_ whatever he was lamenting about was cut off as a brown-haired woman dressed in staff clothes made her way over, a big fake smile on her face.

"Hello. Are you alright there? Would you like some help?" she asked brightly, coming to a halt in front of John. The man glanced away and flushed slightly.

"No, I'm-" He broke off, trying the scanner one more time. Once again the words 'UNIDENTIFIED OBJECT IN BAGGING AREA' flashed in red across the screen. The woman raised an eyebrow, an 'aha!' look on her face before it vanished and she stepped forward.

"Let me help, mister. Um, what are you trying to scan?" the brunette asked, trying to keep the smug look off her face. Finally giving up, John gave her the packet. She glanced at it, flushed furiously, eyed him strangely, then scanned it, stammering out something that sounded like 'have a nice day'. John simply shoved everything into a bag and rushed out, flushing and avoiding gazes. He seemed to have forgotten that not everyone was like Sherlock. A black car followed him persistently on the road, not liking the fact that it was being ignored. John gave a sharp sigh and quickly got into the car, a bit surprised to find Mycroft sitting in the back. The Holmes opened his mouth to say something before John cut him off.

"Look, this can wait for later, Mycroft. I have to give something to your sister," with that he shoved the package of tampons in the other man's hands. To his credit, Mycroft didn't react that harshly. He merely jumped, blushed slightly, and gave the packet back to John.

"Ah. Of course. We're here anyways, Doctor Watson. I'll be drop-"

"Yeah, yeah. Brilliant. Thanks for the ride."

The blond hurried up the stairs, passing a hasty greeting to Mrs. Hudson before pounding up the stairs and throwing the door open. Sherlock looked up from the microscope she was sitting at and cocked an eyebrow.

"Next time you're getting them yourself," was the reply she got, along with the shopping bag tossed onto the counter and the box of tampons in her hand. The detective smirked, moving her attention back to the microscope.

"Of course John. But you didn't say anything about sanitary napkins."

* * *

**So, how did you like it? Good? Bad? I hope you enjoyed it. Please drop a review and tell me if I should continue this series of one-shots or if I should stop writing all together.**

**. . Anwynn. .**


	2. Chapter 2

**Um, hello all. I decided to upload this chapter too. I don't know if its good or not, hence the hesitation. Please read and tell me how I did. If any of you have any suggestion (I have a few ideas, but I want to know if you have any you would like to see), please PM them to me. And if you are a not logged in, then I guess you can put it in a review. Anyways, enjoy this chapter.**

**. . Anwynn. .**

* * *

It wasn't hidden that Sherlock often used the good doctor to her advantages. I mean, he was a doctor. And a soldier. He looked deceptively harmless. It couldn't be further from the truth. But still, Sherlock used John to her advantages and everyone knew it. She especially used his medicinal knowledge. This was one of those times.

* * *

"John!"

The army doctor looked up from his laptop to glance over at the couch. Sherlock, unfortunately, wasn't sitting there. Sighing, John stood up, putting the laptop down and trudging over to the consulting detective's bedroom door.

"You call, Sherlock?" he asked, rapping lightly on the door. She was probably going to ask him to give her mobile back to her. There was a rustling of sheets and an irritated growl before Sherlock spoke again.

"Obviously. Now come in. I have need of your expertise."

"Did you really just ask for my help?"

"You can be smug later on. Just come inside. This is a rather serious matter."

The blond raised an eyebrow and opened the door, shuffling into the room. His eyes were inadvertently drawn to the woman sprawled out on the bed, naked from the waist up. John's eyes immediately flitted away, a red blush forming on his cheeks.

"Sherlock! What happened to your clothes?" he gasped, willing himself to to look at his rather attractive flat mate. Said flat mate let out a long-suffering sigh.

"John, I'm sure this is nothing you haven't seen before. I was checking myself for breast cancer. Grandmother used to have it. And since you are a doctor, I thought your opinion in this matter would be valued," explained the brunette, now sitting up on the bed, arms crossed beneath her breasts. John let out a shaky breath, running a hand nervously through his hair while his eyes remained fixed on the wall.

"Sherlock… why didn't you just go to some other doctor?"

"I have you. Why would I go to see someone who I wouldn't even know, and who I wouldn't be comfortable with?" was his reply. Well… that was a good reason.

John sighed again before forcing his gaze over to Sherlock and hoping his blush wasn't visible. The woman was watching him intently, not even trying to look embarrassed.

"Are you just going to stand there all day? I'm certain breast examination entail that you come near me and _actually_ do some examining."

"Sherlock, just- let me try and make this less awkward for myself, please," he pleaded, rushing to the bathroom to wash his hands. He didn't have his surgical gloves on hand, unfortunately, so that probably meant skin-on-skin touching. The blond shuddered. _People, if they find out, will most definitely talk now. There's no getting out of this_, he mused.

John slowly walked back to the room and over to the bed where Sherlock was lying down again. He swallowed.

"Come on, John. Why are you being so _slow_ today?" asked the brunette with a sharp glare. John slowly inched forward and mentally cringed at what he was about to do.

_This is purely medical. This is purely medical. This is purely medical!_ He chanted in his mind. A small, sarcastic part of his brain snorted. _Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. If that's the truth then I'm a llama_. John briefly wondered if he should be worried about arguing with a voice in his head. Deciding that it was not worth thinking over, he slowly sat down next to Sherlock and reached a hand forward, moth drying up instantly.

"Tell me if it hurts," he managed to croak out, before beginning the procedure.

* * *

Sherlock watched John's face throughout the whole test. He had dragged on a completely indifferent, doctor face. The consulting detective's eyes searched for anything she could recognize in the emotions that flitted across John's eyes.

Okay, so the breast cancer thing was a ruse. She had already known that she did not have breast cancer. It was simply an attempt to make John come closer to her. It seemed that ever since he had the realization that he was in love with her (yes, she had found out about that quite easily), he had taken great pains to not make much contact with her. So this scheme came up. And now she couldn't stop herself from enjoying the touch more than she should have.

The only problem was getting John to act on it…

…Which was quite easily solved with a moan. A simple moan.

Sherlock arched slightly in her sitting position (John had required her to change positions while he worked), letting out a breathy moan. The doctor's fingers paused. His breath hitched. Uncertain blue eyes glanced up into clear grey.

_This is just a reaction, Watson! You would probably do the same if someone was fondling you!_ He mentally chastised. However, the next moan was surely not an accident. John glanced up again at Sherlock and found himself looking into to dark pools.

"Surely even _you_ are not as dull, John. I thought my actions so far would have told you what I wanted."

"Oh my god. Finally."

John leaned forward, relinquishing his grasp on Sherlock's breasts and pulling the consulting detective in for a kiss. She managed to smirk into the kiss.

_Well, that certainly went better than what had been told. I have to thank Sarah._

* * *

**Well, what do you think? Good? Bad? Please review and tell me how I did. I don't really know how well this chapter went. Not all the chapter will have romance! But please, review and make my day.**

**. . Anwynn. .**


	3. Chapter 3

**I apologise **

Boyfriends were, apparently, not Sherlock's area of expertise. Which is why John was surprised when she asked his opinion on her clothes one day. And he was a bit unhappy too, but he ignored that small part of his mind. After all, their relationship was _totally platonic_.

* * *

"Purple or Green?" asked Sherlock from her place on the couch. John jerked his head away from his laptop screen, fingers pausing in their typing, and gave his flat-mate a confused look.

"Sorry?"

"I _said_, purple or green. Do keep up John," huffed the woman, frowning up at the ceiling. John glanced at the skull as if it would explain the situation. It didn't. It just sort of sat there and grinned at him.

"_Don't _look at Yorick like that. He's not talking to you. And you still haven't answered my question."

The army doctor finally lowered the lid of his laptop, putting it away and leaning forwards with a curious look.

"Two questions, Sherlock. Why isn't Yorick talking to me and what do you need the colours for?" he asked. The consulting detective finally sat up in a majestic flutter of blue silk and gave an exasperated sigh.

"Are you _always_ this slow? Look at Yorick." John complied, staring at the skull. It stared back, looking slightly sinister.

"Um, he's staring at me?"

"Honestly John! It's a wonder your brain is still functioning. How do you get any work done?" Before the man could bristle or protest, she kept talking. "Judging by the way he is positioned, it is clear that he does not appreciate the fact that you have moved him from his original place," explained the brunette, giving a glare towards the blond man and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The doctor glanced at Yorick again and noted that he had indeed been moved away from his place. By about a centimetre. Hiding an annoyed growl, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Right. Of course. I'll put him back later. What did you need the colours for again?"

"A shirt. Which would look better on me? Purple or green? I assume purple, since you seem to appreciate it a lot, along with some other men on the streets," she mused. John gaped. Once he had gathered his wits, he snapped his mouth shut and sighed.

"Purple would be better," he agreed, curiosity taking the better of him. "Can I ask what for?"

"You can." There was another short silence. Sherlock didn't move her gaze away from John. Blue eyes inadvertently moved to Yorick. The skull didn't reply. The woman in the room gave him an expectant look. Understanding dawned.

"Why did you ask me for my opinion on the shirt colours?" The doctor finally asked. He got an approving look.

"I have a date with my boyfriend."

John was sure that this was one of those famous tea-spitting moments. Luckily he wasn't drinking tea. That was a small mercy on the carpet. Blue-copper eyes were wide as they stared at the slender brunette opposite them.

"_Boyfriend_? How- when –what?" he stammered uselessly. The consulting detective rolled her eyes and slouched in her place, letting her fingertips meet near her lips.

"Boyfriend, John. I'm sure you understand the meaning of the term as it has been applied to you quite a few times. I have a boyfriend." The words seemed too alien to be connected to Sherlock Holmes. There was just no way that the woman, Ice Queen extraordinaire, would have- no wait, _could have_ a boyfriend. It just didn't seem plausible. While John was gold fishing, the brunette swept up, casting a glance to the clock and striding off to her room.

* * *

Thirty minutes and one pint later, John nursed his second beer.

"A boyfriend," he muttered incredulously. Next to him Lestrade wore a similar look of shock on. Only Mycroft seemed even vaguely unaffected. The detective inspector shook his head, taking another swig of beer.

"Are you sure that's what she said?" he asked for the third time. John nodded, still disbelieving. Mycroft was ignoring their conversation, instead fixed on his glass of wine and tapping his umbrella on the ground in Morse code.

"_How_ did _she_ get a boyfriend?" Greg wondered, looking over at John with confusion. _And I had been so sure that John and Sherlock had been going out. Guess everyone at the Yard is wrong._ There was some more silence.

The door suddenly swung open and a pair of giggles floated over to the men sitting at the bar. Lestrade furrowed his eyebrows and gave John a questioning look before glancing over towards the door with him. Both the police and the ex-soldier froze.

Stumbling through the door, dressed in a deep purple shirt and black skirt, was Sherlock, gripping the arm of a man. Both of them were laughing, giggling was more accurate though, and making their way to an isolated corner table. Even after they had passed, Greg and John stared at the door in shock. Mycroft took the opportunity to rest a hand on the inspector's knee and gently squeeze, his gaze flitting curiously to his sister before resting on his wine glass again. Greg was kind enough to not mention it. Well, he hadn't really noticed it yet.

"_Sherlock?_" John and Greg chorused together, their gazes turning to each other with incredulity before to the isolated table corner. Sherlock's dark chocolate hair was let down, something that she rarely did, and she was laughing. Actually laughing. She didn't really do that much. John found himself jealous of the man she was talking to.

The consulting detective looked up, catching the ex-soldier's eyes and giving a quick flutter of her right eye, something that could be classified as a wink. John blinked rapidly, wondering what on Earth was going on, before he turned back to his drink.

"Are you just going to sit here, Dr. Watson? I'm sure that was my sister' signal," remarked Mycroft mildly from his spot next to Lestrade. The silver haired detective was simply sipping away at his drink, ignoring the world at large and mumbling about Sherlock under his breath, in a bit-not-good manner. The army doctor blinked and glanced at his flat-mate again and noticed that she was sashaying over to the counter next to them, ordering a drink. Her companion was watching her with an admiring look in his eyes. Sherlock came to a stop near John, leaning forwards against the counter, resting her elbow on the table, and calling for a whiskey. Barely moving her lips, she whispered to John.

"I thought I mentioned this plan to you, John. You _do_ know what to do next, correct?"

"Was this said when I was out at Tesco's?" replied John just as silently, his gaze fixed on his beer.

"_That's _where you were gone. Hm, I _did_ wonder why you hadn't passed me my phone."

"I told you I was leaving, Sherlock. Didn't you hear me?"

"Irrelevant. I'm taking Arthur to the back alley. I want you to come in a minute with Lestrade."

"Roger," was the reply she got. A brief confused look passed over the consulting detective's face.

"His name is Arthur," she said with slight confused intonation. John snorted and rolled his eyes. The bartender gave Sherlock her wine, along with an appraising look, before shuffling away. Pausing briefly, the brunette turned to John. She gave a quick glance to Arthur, seeing that he wasn't watching her, before grabbing one of John's hands and boldly putting it low on her back. Then, getting a victorious glint, she slapped John. The army doctor was very confused as he snatched his hand back and frowned slightly. The woman didn't say anything, choosing instead to tower over him.

"How _dare_ you touch me! You dirty bastard!" she said loudly, adopting a look of anger. John realized what was going on quickly enough and took on a leer. Mycroft and Lestrade watched with interest.

"Well, if you stand in front of me like that, in all your glory…" the blond trailed off meaningfully, giving her a once over and winking. Arthur stormed over, grabbing Sherlock and pushing her behind himself while he did some posturing and shouted at John. Lestrade finally intervened, yelling at John too and landing a soft punch, that looked painful, at John's arm. While they both got into a little tussle, the silver eyed detective led Arthur away with whispered praises and encouragement, to the back alley. As soon as they were gone, Gregory stepped away from the doctor and helped him up. Giving each toher twin looks of knowing, they both sped to the back alley.

Sure enough, Sherlock was being pressed against the wall, her head thrown back and a look od disgust on her face as she let out a lewd moan, her neck being sucked on rather enthusiastically by Arthur. She caught sight of the two men come to save her and she gave them irritated looks. Her blond flat-mate rushed forwards, whacking Arthur across his head and making sure he was knocked out before hauling him over to Lestrade. The detective inspector cuffed the man and took out his phone to call his team.

"What was all this abut anyways?" John asked wearily, rubbing his cheek absently. He was pretty sure there was going to be a light bruise over there. Sherlock straightened her clothes and dusted her palms imperiously on her skirt.

"To catch the murderer. He preys on innocent women by gaining their trust and then killing them. Each woman is usually preyed on and then tortured. After that, she is killed and placed somewhere to look like she was sleeping. This was the only way I could have captured him." The doctor sighed agan and glanced at Lestrade. The detective inspector was too busy snogging Mycroft to notice them.

"We're leaving, Greg. We'll give our statements tomorrow," called John as he ushered Sherlock past the couple. Greg simply waved one hand at them, not moving an inch from his place. Rolling his eyes, John led Sherlock away.

"How disturbing," remarked Sherlock, casting a last glance at her brother.

"Isn't it? Angelo's?"

"Of course."

* * *

**Well? What do you all think of this? Please review, they make my day.**

**. . Anwynn. .**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello people! Thanks for the reviews! You've encouraged me to write more. And I don't really know how this came to be. I was just sitting around and then I just thought of this. I hope you'll like it. Enjoy! **

**. . Anwynn. .**

John learned a lot of things about his flat-mate in the time he had spent with her. Some of them surprised him. Some of them, not so much. Then there were those things that totally threw him off and made him wonder about her. This was one of those things.

* * *

The army doctor awoke with a jolt, wondering why he did so. That's when he remembered why. He had heard a cry of distress. Maybe some frustration in it too, but he couldn't be too sure. Protective instincts kicking in, he grabbed his gun, rolling out of bed and rushing down the stairs. The cry had originated from the consulting detective's bedroom. Without further ado, the blond man barrelled his way in, raising the gun and pointing it at the unknown assailant. There was no one there except for Sherlock, who was sitting in front of the vanity table.

The brunette was glowering at her reflection, her lips slightly parted as she locked her gaze onto John.

"Do put down that gun, John. I'm sure even _you_ can see that there is no assailant in the room," she snapped, her gaze wandering to her face again. Or more specifically, her cheekbones. John once said that he thought they were one of her best features. It had made the woman preen. But now, she was glaring at them with distaste. And some amount of confusion. John lowered the gun.

"Sherlock? I thought I heard you shout," he said slowly, glancing around the room to confirm that there was indeed no one there, before moving to sit on her bed. Sherlock made a distasteful tut and sniffed haughtily, continuing to glower at her reflection.

"Yes, that would be me. I was merely surprised," she explained, turning to face the doctor, her blue silk robe swirling around her legs.

"Why, what happened?" asked the blond, shifting slightly and tilting his head to one side. The detective's face took on a sneer and she narrowed her eyes.

"I seem to have something on my face," she said, pointing to her cheek. John's eyes wandered to study where she was pointing and he found himself raising an eyebrow. Indeed, there was one small spot high on her left cheek. The situation set in and he found himself gawking at her incredulously.

"Sherlock…don't tell me you've never had a _pimple_ before," he said with disbelief. Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed slightly and she turned to the mirror to experimentally poke at the spot.

"Oh, so that's what it is. Hmm, I can't say I've had one before." Her voice trailed off as she prodded at it some more, ignoring John's warnings of making it explode- personally, he thought she actually _wanted_ to explode it- and finally let frustration seep into her face.

"This is an absolute disaster! I look horrible!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands extravagantly into the air and slouching, a scowl crossing her face and settling in its usual place. The army doctor looked even more shocked. Sherlock had never really shown any sort of vanity. I mean, if a person can go to a crime scene in only their blue silk robe (and bare-foot at that), then they really are not vain. Especially if they've literally _just_ woken up after five days of no sleep and their hair sticks up in every direction. That just doesn't point to vanity. Now these were the thoughts that had been flitting through John's mind as he processed what the consulting detective had just told him.

"Sherlock…_Sherlock_," he stuttered, unable to think of anything to say. Hopefully, his face was enough to convey the sheer amount of disbelief he felt. The brunette looked over at him, eyes flashing and pouted.

"How do I get it to go away? I need to look my best for the case."

"Well there's no problem there, you always look gorgeous," John muttered under his breath before raising his voice. "Why don't you put on some concealer? And why do you need to look your best?"

"Because of the murderer, John. And do you have any concealer? I think I ran out."

"Why would I have concealer, Sherlock?"

"Many men care for their skin. Its nothing to be ashamed of, John. Even _Mycroft_ uses skincare products. I'm going to assume you do too, because there _has_ to be a reason why your-" Sherlock cut herself off, colouring slightly and clearing her throat. "Anyways, my point remains that you must have something."

John was slightly suspicious of her sudden blush but shook his head slowly.

"Well, you assumed wrong. I don't use _any_ skincare products. What were you-"

"Oh. Well, could you go get me some? I can't possibly go out looking like this."

"Sherlock, you walked outside in your dressing gown and slippers with your hair untamed. You can't walk outside with a small _pimple?_"

"_John!_ He would see me and then wouldn't try to attack me!" huffed the detective.

"_Attack you?!_" demanded John, bristling. One could almost feel the dangerous aura he was suddenly emitting. Sherlock rolled her eyes and waved a hand at him dismissively.

"Oh, calm down. No need to get your…panties in a twist, is it?" John spluttered, all dangerousness gone and replaced by a look of chagrin, amusement, amazement and fondness.

"I didn't think you'd know something like that. And for your information, I do _not_ wear panties."

"I didn't think you would John. Unless you had managed to successfully hide that from me until now. And I just recently heard the phrase. Anderson's reaction to it was brilliant. I've confirmed it that he does indeed enjoy cross-dressing."

There was a small silence as the consulting detective gazed at the soldier seriously. Then John was doubled over laughing and Sherlock joined him, their laughter bouncing around the room.

"I-I would've _paid_ to see th-the look on his face!" managed John, the mental image of a horrified looking Anderson flickering through his mind. Sherlock gasped for breath, still chuckling.

"It was wonderful. I have pictures," she agreed, one hand holding her up against the vanity. She had somehow managed to slide to the floor and was leaning against the doctor. Said doctor was also on the floor, still chuckling.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked with a roguish grin.

"Atrocious grammar there, John. But yes." They both paused then said, at the same time, "Blackmail!" Then they promptly started laughing again. When they finally calmed down, Sherlock suddenly remembered the situation and straightened, shoving John away from her and towards the door. The doctor gave her a raised eyebrow, complying and standing up.

"Yes?" he asked. The brunette hauled herself from the offered arm and dusted her robe before gesturing to the pimple again.

"Concealer. And make it quick John. The killer and I have to go for a coffee soon."

"Fine."

* * *

John was wondering for the umpteenth time why he did these things for Sherlock. The detective had asked for concealer and now a woman was trying to get him to buy at least four different types of concealers.

"Look, I just need _that one_," growled John, snatching one of them up and shoving it in the woman's face. The woman gave him an attempt at a charming smile and showed the others.

"Are you sure, mister? I don't think your girlfriend would like it if you came with the wrong one."

"For the love of- Firstly, she's not my girlfriend. And second, _yes I'm sure_!" They both glared at each other, breathing raised and fists clenched. The woman seemed hell-bent on making him leave with at least two.

"_This _brand's better. And you _need_ foundation."

"I think I still want _this_ one, thanks. And I don't _need _foundation."

"_This_ is better quality. She might be allergic to the one you're holding."

"I think I know her well enough to say that she isn't allergic to anything."

"Take these two with you and see if they work."

"Just…no! God, woman. I'm taking _this_ one and you _are_ going to quickly tell me how much to pay."

In the end John left with about three concealers, two brushes, and one foundation. Yes, he was rather defeated.

* * *

"Sherlock! Your concealer!" shouted the blond, stomping up the stairs ad tossing the small bag at the brunette. Silver-grey-blue-green eyes caught the bag and peered inside, taking out the little bottles and opening them. First there was s stick of green concealer, then some sort of cream concealer, another concealer and one powdered mineral foundation. The detective studied all the things curiously, looking them over with interest before turning her gaze to her flatmate. Said flatmate glanced up from where he was sitting and followed her gaze back to the bottles, eyes widening.

"Oh no. Nonononononono_no_."

"Oh _yes_."

* * *

Lestrade watched the killer being dragged off and looked towards the two because of whom it had been possible. John was wearing a grouchy look as he slouched next to Sherlock, partially paying attention to her conversation with Mycroft. Sidling over, Greg tapped John on the shoulder, giving him a questioning look. The army doctor sulked some more.

"What happened, mate?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

The words had the detective inspector immediately narrowing his eyes and shifting his gaze to the Holmes. Both the Holmes siblings gave twin looks of curiosity.

"Alright, what did you do to him Sherlock?" asked the grey-haired man, shifting his gaze to his own lover. Mycroft shifted his gaze to John and quickly scanned him before smirking slightly. Sherlock didn't say anything, instead giving a proud look and raising her chin.

"John gave me a facial and did my make up. He's embarrassed," she said matter-of-factly. Greg burst out laughing. John sulked. Mycroft snickered.

* * *

Two weeks later, John was staring at the sign hanging outside the flat in horror. He knew he shouldn't have left her alone for this long.

_John Watson_

_Aesthetician_

_221B Baker Street_

_Available at all times_

* * *

**So? What do you think? Good? Bad? Please review!**

**. . Anwynn. .**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey guys, sorry for the late update! Here's the next chapter. Enjoy!**

**. . Anwynn. .**

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Some things that Sherlock said, John tended to ignore. Other things that she said, especially ones that were so outrageously feminine, he preferred to keep in his mind to tease her about later.

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There was a resounding crack in the dark and dank alley, making Doctor John Watson flinch. Skidding to a halt, he looked around warily, gun held at ready for firing. There was only silence.

The muted sounds from the main street could be heard too. Orange light from the streetlamps seeped in, filtering through a rusted staircase. There were the excited sounds of children rushing across streets, giggling wildly as they chorused for sweets.

"Sherlock?" hissed John in a sharp whisper, blond-grey hair glinting in the orange as he cast quick glances around. There was no response. Getting a bit worried, John moved forwards, hand griping his gun loosely. Blue eyes looked around again as he took one cautious step forward. And then another. And another.

"Sherlock? Can you hear me?" asked the soldier, now walking much more faster once he ascertained that nobody was going to jump out of the shadows and attack him. This time he actually got a response. It was a frustrated tut.

"Come now, John. Surely you can hear my loud breathing," snapped an irritated voice. And irritated female voice. Normally the good doctor would try not to have _any_ woman talking to him in that tone of voice. it usually meant something bad was coming. But this was _Sherlock_. She always talked to him like he was three years old.

"Did you catch him?" asked John instead, shaking out all thoughts of three year olds and carefully following the. Indeed, loud breathing. There was a grunt.

"No. He ran away. Text Lestrade and tell him to be on the lookout for a man dressed as a clown."

"A clown?" John wrinkled his nose and stepped over a pile of – what looked like – rat droppings.

"Yes. He had a green wig, a purple coat and an alarming orange shirt. _And _he put on more make-up than your last girlfriend. Polly was it?"

"You realise, the clown you're talking about is actually The Joker? And no, it was _Pauline_. No wonder they leave."

"It's not _my_ fault that you can't keep a girlfriend for more than a month. Honestly John. And could you _be_ any more slow?"

John rolled his eyes, briefly wondering why Sherlock had not come to him by now, and finally reached where the woman was. The brunette was sitting against the alley wall, a grimace on her face and her legs put on in front of her.

"What happened to you?" he asked, dropping into a crouch and scanning her ver for any obvious signs of injury. The woman glared at him, flicking her gaze back to her feet.

"I sprained my ankle." There was a brief silence after the proclamation before John chuckled.

"Of all the things that could happen to you – the _mighty Sherlock Holmes_ – you get beaten by a sprained ankle!" he laughed, carefully prodding both her ankles. He was swatted around the head sharply as Sherlock let out an annoyed hiss.

"That is not a pleasant sensation. I would appreciate it if you stop prodding my ankle."

"You'll be fine in a couple of weeks, Sherlock. No need to get all fussy."

"Shut up. Now help me up. I don't want Lestrade's few remaining brain cells to die."

John huffed a laugh and helped the brunette up, supporting her with an arm around her waist. Sherlock gingerly put her sprained foot forwards and then instantly collapsed against the doctor's side, groaning.

"That…"

"Hurt?" asked John, his eyes twinkling and a grin sneaking up on his features. The detective turned her head towards her male companion sharply, a glower on her face.

"I have sprained my ankle, I thought it would be obvious it hurt, _doctor_." John held up a hand in a placating manner, keeping the other coiled about the slender brunette's waist. Getting a sudden spark in his eyes, he grinned, glancing up at the silver eyes.

"Trust me?" he asked. Sherlock gave him a puzzled look, scanning his face anxiously before widening her eyes.

"No. Nono_no_ John! I will _not_ tolerate the indignity – " whatever she was about to say was cut off as she let out a squeal. John had hoisted her easily into his arms, bridal style, and was chuckling as he walked.

"You're heavier than you look," huffed the army doctor as he stumbled forwards a step and quickly took off towards 221B.

"Are you saying I'm _fat_?" questioned Sherlock incredulously, suddenly showing the female aspect in her. And very strongly at that. Her grey-green-blue eyes were narrowed as she scowled.

"What? No! I never said that! Jeez, Sherlock! I never understand you."

"You just said I'm heavy, implying that I'm fat. And I will have you know, _I am not fat_!"

John let out an incredulous laugh as he carried Sherlock.

"I know you're not. Calm down Sherlock."

"I _am _calm," sulked the brunette detective, wrapping an arm around the blond's neck and jutting her lower lip out.

"'Course you aren't," agreed John, calmly pausing on the doorstep to 221B. He gave the woman in his arms a pointed look, making her glare even more furiously as she rang the doorbell. There was a small silence before the door swung open. It was opened by a smiling Mrs Hudson holding out a bowl of candy. Her eyes widened when she noticed who was in front of her. Sherlock sulkily snatched up a bar of chocolate.

"Sherlock? John? What happened?" asked the landlady worriedly. No matter what she said, she worried for Sherlock like a daughter. The brunette glowered.

"I sprained my ankle."

"Are you okay?" asked the older woman worriedly. The consulting detective unwrapped the chocolate and paused, staring at it intently before looking back up at Mrs Hudson.

"Do I look fat?"

John's laughter could be heard all the way down the streets.

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**So, how did you guys like it? Good? Bad? Okay? Early Halloween gift to all of you! Happy Halloween! And please review! (On that note, I might be uploading a Halloween one tomorrow. Look out for it!)**

**. . Anwynn. .**


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